


alone in the night

by targaryenkaz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brandon and Ashara are Jon's parents, Exes to Lovers, F/M, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, look some characters will be ooc cause i need a villain okay, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 15:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21460279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryenkaz/pseuds/targaryenkaz
Summary: When they were teenagers everyone assumed Jon and Daenerys would end up together, themselves included. But things didn't work out that way.A decade later Daenerys returns to their hometown, and neither her or Jon are handling it very well.Based on Hate to Want You by Alisha Rai
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Grey Worm/Missandei, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 48
Kudos: 182





	1. dashed and divided

**Author's Note:**

> Westeros is kind of like the Isle of Wight in this, fyi. Fair sized island off the coast of England.

He shouldn’t be here. He _really_ shouldn’t be here, in his car outside Gendry’s tattoo parlour, watching Daenerys through the window. It was dark out and he’d turned the lights in his car off, so he was pretty sure she couldn’t see him.

What would he do if she did?

That is precisely the reason he should be driving away right now. He had no idea what to do or what to say. What to feel, even. 

He should put this down as a bad idea and head home. In five more minutes.

A part of his mind was still struggling to accept it. Daenerys Targaryen had come home. 

Their island wasn’t small or huge, but Jon thought surely, he’d feel it. If she ever stepped back on Westeros soil. An overdramatic thought, definitely, but one that went to his core. He’d had to hear of her return second-hand. He should have known, before anyone else. It was only right.

When he’d first pulled up and saw that old red Mustang, he briefly thought his heart would give out. The car they’d bought for cheap and fixed up as kids. The summer before…everything.

The car hadn’t been enough proof for him though, he needed to see. A slow drive by would have been enough, to catch a glimpse of her in the window, but he’d parked up instead.

He sounded like a stalker. Did it count as stalking when it’s someone you know? _Okay, that definitely sounded stalker-ish._

His final bit of proof was that unmistakable silver hair. It floated past her waist now, hadn't been this long since they were kids. He’d always found her hair entrancing, like it moved of its own accord. He had a whole vault of memories dedicated to all the times he’d tugged it playfully and stroked it softly and gripped it hard, wrapped around his fist. A vault he should have locked a long time ago. 

Jon loosened his tie and relaxed in his seat. As much as he could in the newly upholstered leather chairs. Feeling the growing ache in his lower back he wondered why he wasted the money upholstering chairs that were fine to begin with, and were now considerably less comfortable.

_Appearances matter. They’re all that matters._

Watching her now, as she moved around the parlour oblivious to his presence, he had to fight off memories of their last meeting. The way she’d panted in his ear. The feel of her nails on his back, clawing at him as if she wanted to tear him apart. The deep moan she’d released when he threw her legs over his shoulders. The way he knew her body _so well_ that he knew she regretted her sound of pleasure as soon as it left her, as if he’d won something and she’d lost. 

It could never be easy with them. Not anymore.

Which is exactly why, one of the many, _many_ reasons why, he should call it a night and go home.

But he could real his anger ratcheting, and for once it felt righteous. They had a deal. Not a verbal one but a deal all the same. He’s embarrassed to admit even to himself how much it threw him when she never messaged him. She always had. 

A week or two before her birthday the text would come in, coordinates for a city and the name of a motel. Nothing upscale, though he’d pay for it she wanted. The idea was laughable that she’d take anything from him anymore. Aside from the obvious, which they had no problem taking from each other. Pleasure, dignity, pride; they were all ripe for taking. But the motel was always cheap and seedy; like their interactions for the past decade. No talking, no feelings, just sex. No discussions of acknowledgement of the past under any circumstances. They might as well be strangers.

So why was he bothered she ditched him this year? He was a habitual person; he’d trained himself to be to get by. She’d broken their routine and it pissed him off. Wasn’t she even going to give him a heads-up?

But he was probably embarrassing himself more by caring. Was he her dog, just ready and waiting to come running whenever she called on him? No. They were barely more than children when they fell in love and so, whatever, they had an annual nostalgic trip down memory lane. As always, he was overthinking and making more of it than it was.

It was time to wrap things up. He’d came, he’d seen her. That would have to be his closure. 

What was he even thinking, coming here? He’d heard she was in town and just needed to see for himself, as if anyone else could be mistaken for her. These were the actions of the old Jon, the one whose only responsibility was to himself and his first love. Gods, if his family found out he’d come here – after being explicitly, in no certain terms, not to – he’d be fucked. 

His workload was stressful enough without having to deal with yet another lecture and he’s sure a lot of material could be wrung out of this.

But just as he puts his keys back into the ignition, his phone buzzes twice in quick succession.

** _Quit being a stalker  
If you want a tattoo you have to come inside_ **

**//**

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little relieved that Jon had shown up to find her. She didn’t think he’d be sitting in his car in the dark like a creep, but still, he’d shown up.

Great, now she could use this as fuel to pretend he gave a shit about her for the next few weeks. _Months_, maybe. __

_ _

_ _Why did she continue to torture herself? She already knew he didn’t. Not aside from their ‘no strings attached’ arrangement. _ _

_ _

_ _She busied herself sterilizing the tools and chair and surfaces. She enjoyed the mundanity of cleaning. It got her out of her own head for a while. _ _

_ _

_ _When she’d finished, he was still sat there. She never looked directly at him, only peeked out the corner of her eye. But she knew that kind of company car even if she’d never seen it. It was just a newer model of BMW that Ned had driven. Rickard and Aerys too, way back in the day._ _

_ _

_ _He’d always had a cab or a rental every time they’d met up. A flush warmed her cheeks just thinking of the last time they saw each other. It was more carnal, more desperate than it had been since that first time. Her twentieth birthday. Only a few months after they’d broken up and they’d clawed and pulled at each other as if it could fix everything. If only they tried hard enough it would be better by morning. That was what Daenerys had thought anyway. When she woke up in the morning he was gone._ _

_ _

_ _And so, the cycle went on. One night a year, always her birthday. Until her thirtieth._ _

_ _

_ _She’s never bought into the idea that as a woman you had to have everything sorted by thirty. Marriage, kids, career. It was a primitive way of thinking and she wouldn’t judge herself by those standards. _ _

_ _

_ _But there was a part of her in the months before her thirtieth that felt profoundly sad at the idea of continuing. Heartbroken at the idea of not continuing as well. But she’d learned how to weather heartbreak and would survive it, eventually._ _

_ _

_ _She wanted to do better by herself. Be _kinder_ to herself. Carrying on with an idea that was born out of loneliness and clinging to hopes that had long since died was nothing but cruel at this point. For both of them._ _

_ _

_ _She’d never expected when she made that decision, that she’d be coming home only months after opting to let go for good. Life was annoying like that._ _

_ _

_ _She wondered if Jon had been heartbroken as she was when the message never came. If he didn’t know what to do with himself. She’s sure he noticed, but did he care? Was he relieved to not have to see her? To have an excuse to leave her in the past where they belonged._ _

_ _

_ _A fearful part of her spoke up. When they were younger, she’d been the one to pursue him. After the end she’d been the one to message him in hopes he’d come. What if he just didn’t know how to say no to her? She’d seen the stubborn, prideful parts of him. Once she had known all the good and ugly sides of Jon. But their break-up proved she didn’t know him as well as she thought. It’s not as if he’s ever stood up to his family. Did that mean he had just never stood up to her?_ _

_ _

_ _She never used to think it would be capable to push him into doing something he didn’t want to do but what did she know of him really? Maybe she was the instigator off all of this and him just an innocent bystander._ _

_ _

_ __No._ She was letting her mind run loose again. Projecting her own issues on what was already a fraught situation. She picks up a rag and cleans the worktop table until her mind quiets again._ _

_ _

_ _She couldn’t look back on what they’d been. _If I look back, I am lost.__ _

_ _

_ _Whatever this was, whatever reason he’d come to see her for, she wanted it out and the open. She’s done torturing herself with false hopes and scenarios that will never come to pass._ _

_ _

_ _She pulls out her phone and fires off two texts. She’s done with self-destructive behaviour. Time to get it over with._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i started a new multi-chapter fic even though i'm not done with too tempting not to touch. that one is my priority for now but i've had this written for a while & thought i might as well post it.
> 
> targaryenghafa on twitter.


	2. bad woman

One night. No one has to find out.

That was the first text Jon received ten years ago. Quickly followed by London and the coordinates to a cheap motel. He’s hoping no one finds out about this clandestine meeting either.

His hands shake slightly as he opens the door to _The Ink Smith._

_Gods, he hated that name._ He and Gendry hadn’t been close in a while, but whenever he saw him, he made sure to make some not so subtle hints at perhaps changing the parlour’s name.

When Daenerys turns to face him, his breath catches, and he can only hope she didn’t hear it. 

Her beauty has never failed to shock him a little. When they were younger and saw each other every day he’d still feel taken aback by her. After 15 months he feels it like a bombshell. Like getting a hit from a drug you’ve been craving. Not that he’d know much about that. The only times he ever experimented with drugs was with her. 

He tried not to use words like bad when describing women, it left things too up for interpretation, is far too vague a descriptor. 

In the case of Daenerys, it meant _bad for him._

In that moment though, that could have been a second or an hour, he couldn’t give a single fuck how bad they were for each other. 

Memories rushed through him once again of their last night together. He could replay the whole thing in his head like a beloved old VHS that you watch so many times the tape wears down. He’s certainly spent enough nights thinking about it.

His eyes dip over her and he’s transported. On her feet she wears blocky boots, adding a few inches to her short frame. Nothing like the stilettos that dug into his ass as he thrusted into her. Over a long-sleeved white shirt, she wears a short black velvet pinafore style dress, revealing those strong thighs he can still feel gripped around his waist. That hair, that he’d held tight in his fist, not caring if it hurt her because they weren’t allowed to care about things like that anymore. Wasn’t hurting each other a little precisely the point? He’d had to stop himself from tenderly wiping it off her sweat-sheened face when they were through. That was what before Jon would do. You’d think after nine years he wouldn’t have to remind himself not to be gentle or romantic with her. Nobody had called Jon Snow a romantic in a very long time.

_And you’re not here for romance either._

He could be cold, formal. He ran a corporation; it was second nature to him now. It was part of his job to seek out things that could be issues for the company and fix them. Her return was just another issue.

Part of him wanted to tuck tail and run. The only thing worse than someone finding out he’d come here would be someone finding out he’d come here and not done anything worthwhile. 

_You’re a Stark in all but name. You don’t quit._ His father’s words echoed in his head, as they always did.

It hadn’t escaped him that his father was willing to pile on all the family burden but not give him the name. 

“Here for a tattoo?” 

_I don’t want a tattoo. I want you, but I can’t have you. I want you and I hate myself for it._

“No. I heard you were in town.”

“Heard from who?”

“My cousin. She saw you filling her car.”

“I didn’t think the news would travel so quickly. I’ve only been here a week.”

“You’ve been gone too long if you think that’s fast.” He’s honestly surprised it took so long for news to reach him. The Stark and Targaryen’s had provided much entertainment for the Westerosi over the years. Far too many people had investments in their personal lives. Luckily for Jon, word hadn’t seemed to reach his father yet. 

“Well, here I am. Behold with your own eyes, the bitch is back.”

“I never thought that about you.”

“No? I have a reputation to maintain so we should keep that between friends.”

“We’re not friends.” The words are out before he can stop them. It’s not a lie, but it was an unnecessary addition. He sees whatever small amounts of warmth there were in her eyes die. Her lips curling with a small bitter smile. 

_Go easy on me, love. Please._

“Forgive me the figure of speech, keeping something between sworn enemies doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.”

“We’re not enemies either.” It was true. Their families may hate each other but they didn’t need to.

“Things really must have changed around here if that’s true.”

He takes his eyes off her for the first time since entering the parlour. He’s never been inside despite Gendry opening it over six years ago. There’s one chair in the front and a curtain in the back covers what he assumes is another tattoo chair. Gendry’s business has never seemed booming, but it does well enough. Tucked away in the adjacent corner from where Jon stands are two plush sofas sat around a low coffee table. Magazines, notepads litter the surface alongside two coffee cups and an open box of half-finished pastries.

He’s bizarrely, irrationally jealous at the sight of them. At the thought of her easting pastries with another man. 

When they were younger, the year after he had finished high school and she was in her last year, he would pick her up with a tea and treat from the bakery as they drove to one of their houses. He’s always had a sweet tooth and he passed it on to Daenerys when they started dating. 

The idea of someone encroaching on what used to be theirs makes him feel like a heartsick 20-year-old boy again, playing at being a man.

“I had a consultation earlier,” she says, following his gaze. “Why did you come here, Jon?

“Is it so weird that I’m curious about you coming back after so long? Coming back _and_ getting a job.”

After he’d heard she was back, it wasn’t hard to track her down. He was embarrassingly familiar with her social media even if she only posted sporadically. There was nothing new on her Instagram, she didn’t have Facebook or Twitter, so he lowered himself to checking her LinkedIn. He’d nearly had a heart attack when he saw she was working here.

“Firstly, I’m only guest spotting.” He didn’t know for sure what that meant but it didn’t sound permanent. Which was a good thing, obviously. Definitely.

“And secondly, it wasn’t my first time back in years. I’ve been back to see Jae a handful over the years, I just never stayed long. And I was back last year for Viserys’ funeral.”

He didn’t know if it was her goal to unsettle him by bringing up her dead brother so nonchalantly but if it was, it worked. He takes a moment to collect himself, looking at the art on the wall. There were bold prints alongside delicate designs, black and white tattoos and ones that looked more like watercolour paintings. 

“I meant for a longer stay,” he said, voice tight. Obviously, she had come home, Grey too probably. Jon had avoided town the whole week of the funeral. Arya had claimed she was sick and asked if she could stay at his. She’d had a cold maybe, but otherwise seemed fine though he jumped on the excuse and they spent days playing video games and watching movies. It was the longest break he’d had in a decade. 

He could easily imagine the scandal if he’d shown up at the funeral of his dead former best friend. Viserys’ death in a hiking accident had been all over the news, the town gossips might have dropped dead from excitement if Jon had shown his face near the church.

_Jon and Viserys were being groomed to run S&T one day, but after the accident Brandon Stark swindled Rhaella Targaryen out of her shares of the company and the Targaryen’s were left destitute. That poor Viserys._

Or

_Jon and Viserys would have ruled S&T together, but after the tragedy Rhaella sold her shares to Brandon. The younger Targaryen boy, Grey, got so angry he burned down the flagship store. Poor Jon. _

Those were the two templates people stuck to when they spoke about them. It all depended on who you asked. Jon and Dany’s relationship wasn’t even a huge part of the gossip, but people around here would take whatever morsels they could get.

“I’m so sorry about Viserys.” His voice comes out wooden, but he’s never been the best at grieving.

“It’s a little late for your condolences.” The words hurt but her voice is soft and subdued, unlike the Dany he’s gotten to see the past decade. More like the girl he knew.

“Did you want me to contact you earlier to offer them?” He was being snarky but was also curious. How would that conversation have gone? 

“I didn’t expect anything from you. That’s not how our relationship is anymore. Right Snow?”

_Snow_. An old tradition on this island to give the bastards a different name, to mark them in some way. It had died a long time ago, but his father decided to bring it back. He’s always claimed there’s no shame in it but has never brought up him changing his name to Stark either. At school, people would try and tease Jon with the name. He hated it, resented it but one day Dany had called him by it teasingly. Not to joke or be cruel but to take the sting out of something he was confronted with constantly. 

She doesn’t mean to be cruel now either. If anything, it’s a reminder of who they once were to one another. But the pain that had long since numbed itself flickers back to life a little.

“Right, Daenerys.”

There are no signs of distress aside from her frown lines deepening slightly between her eyebrows, but he knows he scored a hit by using her full name and hates himself for it.

“As lovely as this has been,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I have to close up so if that’s everything?”

“It’s not. I…I came to talk to you.” His life was ordered, perfectly structured and she was an interruption to it.

“We don’t usually talk when we’re together and my birthday isn’t for another nine months or so.”

The reminder of their arrangement shocked him. He didn’t think she’d be so blunt about it. But why would he think that? She’d always been blunt with him.

“I know exactly when your birthday is. I should offer you a belated happy birthday as well seeing as I missed your thirtieth,” he reminded her sharply.

She lifts her chin stubbornly to stare at him. “I didn’t know you were expecting me.”

“I just figured we had an arrangement.” He took a step closer to her. She smelled so sweet, always had. There was a tiny crumb on the corner of her mouth he wanted to wipe off. Or lick off.

_Down boy_, his rational brain kicked in.

“I didn’t want to be predictable, sorry if you were waiting.”

She didn’t even try to make her apology seem genuine and if she was anyone else he’d assume they were playing mind games. But not his Dany, she was always straightforward with him. 

“No need to be sorry, I moved on.” He had to. When he found himself wanting to stay in bed two weeks past their missed annual date, he realised how unhealthy it was for him to still be hanging on. That he’d always made sure he was single when her birthday came around each year.

That was another of their rules. She sent a text the second year after the coordinates just saying;

** _If you’re with somebody don’t bother coming._ **

When he confronted the eagerness with which he waited for the date to roll around, he felt embarrassed and small, and determined to find a way to move past this obsession.

Darkness coloured her expression and she cut their eye contact. “Well, I’m honoured Westeros’ golden prince spared me a moment’s thought.”

He would laugh if he didn’t think it would reveal too much. Did she really think that’s all he’d thought of her over the years?

“Of course not,” she said with a bitter smile. “If you need to speak to me, you have my number now.”

The first few years of their arrangement he’d save her number, just in case she would contact him again. But she never did and when her next birthday rolled around it would be a text from a new number and a new city to meet in. He’d had a few moments of weakness those early years when he called her, but they were always disconnected.

“I’d like to speak now. For all I know you’ll have a new phone tomorrow in whatever country you’re in,” he says, a faux humility in his voice.

“Oh, fuck off, Jon, I’m working.” She didn’t sound angry but the fire in her eyes told him something different. There were a million insults she was holding back, he could tell. “So, like I said, if you don’t want a tattoo then leave.”

He really looked at her, seeing the woman she’d become and the girl she had been. His heart filled with fondness no matter how much he wanted to tamp it down. 

“You should kiss me then,” she had said, at her sixteenth birthday party when she’d found out he hadn’t kissed anyone before. He’d blushed, thinking she was joking but she prodded him in the chest and asked him to make her birthday wish come true. Her wish was his command, so he’d pressed her against the wall and kissed her. It was sloppy and lacking in any finesse, but his heart had sped, and butterflies had floated through him in realisation. _This was special._

It turns out amongst their friends there was unspoken agreement that they would wait for each other, although he was the last to know about it. It made sense though, he was somewhat shy. He could stick up for himself or his friends but mostly kept his head down. Daenerys had always brought him out of his shell, even when she was just his friends’ younger sister. She had held his hand at his Uncle Ned’s funeral, let him cry on her for hours. In hindsight it was obvious where their friendship was leading.

For almost four years they’d been perfect and messy and in love. He knew, even at his young age, that this was the person for him, the one he wanted to build a life with. 

Instead, they’d built completely different lives far away from each other. Until now. 

Scratches down his back and love bites on his neck had long since faded but she would always have her mark on him. It was foolish to stay and talk to her, he was here to deal with her presence in Westeros, to make sure she wouldn’t cause any trouble for the company. He was unwisely scratching at a recently scabbed over wound, but the pain would be worth a few more minutes in her presence. 

“Fine, give me a tattoo.”

** _//_ **

People had always told Daenerys she wasn’t good at keeping her temper in check. Viserys could kick off but his tantrums were always excused. As a girl, she was incessantly told to calm down, even if her reactions were totally valid. 

She had a temper, certainly, but it was nowhere near as explosive as her teachers said, or ex-boyfriends, or her father. The last was particularly hypocritical given what kind of man he was.

Right now though, she was tempted to lose her shit just so he would leave. Instead she cracked a harsh laugh.

His face lost all expression when she laughed. Many had called him aloof or brooding but when they were together, she’d seen all side of him; goofy, bitter, sensual, devastated and temperamental. 

Since the break-up she’d only seen the cold, controlled side to him. Or the hot, aroused side, the way his face went slack with pleasure when fucking her. But the latter was always quickly replaced by the former. It still hurt a little how much she missed seeing the full scope of his emotions. 

“You don’t think I’m serious?” This broody version of Jon asked.

“About getting a tattoo? No fucking way are you serious.”

If he thought he was being subtle about why he was here then he had failed. She knew exactly why he was here.

_Family first_. That’s how he’d respond whenever she’d ask about him going to work for his father when it made him miserable, when he put everyone’s happiness above his own. 

Above all else he was loyal to family and to S&T’s or _Stark’s_ as it was now known. He’d been a boy brought up on black and white rules, but she always thought he’d grow to see the grey, grow to see not everyone in his bloodline deserves his loyalty. She was wrong.

Now that something, her, was a potential threat to his company’s stalwart reputation he was on the offense. He hadn’t come for idle chit-chat, he’d come to see if she was going to kick up a fuss. Which she wasn’t. She had no interest in the company or its employees. 

Her interests didn’t matter though. Not when Jon had been trained to see a Targaryen as a threat.

She would never let him see how much that hurt her. So, she let him think she only wanted him for his body and maybe not even that anymore. It was better than being vulnerable with him and getting crushed again. 

Under his beard his jaw twitched. She might be trying to move on with her life, but she still wanted to rest her hand over his jaw, run her fingers over his pillowy lips. No matter how much she’s resented him at points in her life, he’d always been so beautiful. His well-groomed beard gave the appearance of a chiselled jaw. but she remembered the soft-faced boy, his facial hair growing in patches. His hair was shorter now too, she’d loved running her hands through his shoulder length curls but this was a good look on him. He was so different to when she knew him well but as attractive as ever. 

He undid the knot in his tie and pushed off his jacket. 

Gods, he can’t know what this is doing to her. She hoped her flush didn’t show. 

It was a weakness of hers, to see him untidy himself like this. Over the years he’d show up to the motels looking the crisp businessman that he was but she’d get to strip it all away to the animal underneath. 

She could still recall the first time she took notice of him as more than Viserys’ friend. She was recently fifteen and he walked into their home still wearing the suit he’d donned for his summer job at S&T’s. He’d had a red tie on, and she had the sudden impulse to drag him down to her by it and kiss the life out of him. For the next year she’d dropped as many hints as she could that he was no longer just a family friend in her eyes. It wasn’t until she outright stated she wanted to kiss him that he caught on.

She wasn’t buying his innocent act. Standing across from her acting like he didn’t know what this was doing to her. She’d lost counts of the amount of times he’d come home from a stressful day at work and use one his ties to bind her hands to her headboard.

His shirt clung to his muscles, that seemed to grow more defined every year. She’d worshipped them as much as she could in their short dalliances but not nearly as much as she’d like to.

He draped his jacket, then tie over his arm, dragging his thumb over the tie and keeping eye contact like he knew exactly what dirty thoughts were in her head. 

_Keep it together, Daenerys. This is still the man who broke your heart. _

“Where do you want me?”

_Everywhere, you idiot. Everywhere, all the time. That’s the problem._

“If you’re trying to call my bluff, I don’t advise it. I will repeatedly pierce your skin with a needle. Gladly.”

“I’m not trying to call your bluff. You’ve got a head start on me but I have to start somewhere.”

That much was true. She’d gotten her first tattoo two weeks before her sixteenth. It was illegal but she’d begged Viserys to take her. He’d agreed but only if she’d get something scandalous. She recalled him saying, “You need to get something that would shock father into his grave if he weren’t already dead.” He’d refused to take her if she was going to get something basic like a butterfly or a star. 

In fact, she had planned on getting a butterfly but decided on a lemon tree on her hip instead. She thought it was a little scandalous. The tree she’d played on as a child tattooed on a decidedly not childish part of her body. 

She’d hated her body at first when it started changing, she wanted to be willowy and slender like her mother but was growing to like the changes and wanted to own them. What better way than marking them.

Viserys had loved the idea and she’d wanted to ask him to stay and hold her hand, but he left the room when the tattoo gun came out, muttering “This is getting a little too close to how our family used to do things.” So, she’d bit her lip and dealt with the pain on her own. It was a good lesson for the future. 

A few days later she’d ripped off the bandage and shown it to Jon when their group of friends went to the beach. He’d stared a moment too long then excused himself, saying he left something in Viserys’ car. _Still_, he hadn’t caught on to her attempt at seduction.

It wasn’t long after they started dating that he mapped every inch of her tattoo, tracing it reverently with fingers and lips and tongue. She owed a lot to that tattoo.

_Like a decade of heartache, stupid._

She batters the lustful thoughts away and tries to come up with a way to get him to leave. She’d known eventually he’d find out she was in town but so far she’d been careful, only travelling from her mum’s house to work and back again. She hadn’t even drove to Missandei’s, she and Jae had come to her. 

_You came home to move forward._

Nothing that could be said between them would help them move forward. She’d only end up hurting again and she didn’t need Jon’s help with that. Why he insisted on torturing them both she didn’t know.

“This is new,” he said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

His eyes drifted to the delicate lavender sprig tattoo on her collarbone, the same shade as her eyes. The lavender lay horizontally with grey writing, almost invisible unless you really looked, inked under it. 

His hand rises as if to touch it before dropping. “It’s lovely. What does it mean?”

She faltered. She was not getting into this with him. “It means I like pretty flowers,” she lied, not caring to try and sound convincing. 

His forehead scrunched up in consternation. “Why are you here, really?”

It was a small sacrifice on his part to show how badly he wanted to know why she had returned. It must be hard for the famed son of a dynasty who made it onto Forbes’ 30 Under 30 list to admit he doesn’t understand something.

He must not know about her mother’s accident. People loved to gossip about anything to do with their families, she assumed he must have heard. Unless he had heard and didn’t think she would come home. That stung more than she’d like. The woman he’d known would always come if her family needed her. No, the woman he’d known wouldn’t have left to begin with.

She really had no desire to talk to him about her mother. “I told you I’m here to work, not talk.”

“And I told you, I’ll get a tattoo if that gets me some answers.”

“Fine.” _If he wants to play this foolish scheme out then that’s on him._

She grabbed a form and pen from the front desk and slapped it to his chest. “Health and safety acknowledgement and a disclaimer, to guarantee you won’t sue me.” 

“I wouldn’t sue you,” he replied, signing the form. 

“Good. It’s not like I have much worth suing for.” She hoped the mention of her family’s diminished fortune stung him. 

_The Starks are nothing but filthy, traitorous, greedy usurpers_, came Viserys’ voice in her head.

She guides him to the chair in the back. It’s dark out but she doesn’t want to risk someone coming by and seeing him in the front chair. 

“Where do you want it?” She asks him.

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Wherever you want,” he responds in a gruff tone. “Whatever you want.”

She, with great difficulty, ignores the other implications of those words. “You really want me to decide your tattoo?”

He nods in response. 

“Roll up your sleeves,” she says, rolling over her chair to sit next to him. 

“What shall we do?” She smooths her hand over his forearm and bites her lip. Why did he have to have such firm forearms? She shook her head, willing the thoughts away. She was acting like her teenage self again and needed to cut that shit out. 

“A wolf perhaps? They’re the most important thing to you after all.” 

His jaw clenched in restrained anger. She recognized that look. But instead of biting back at her he only says, “I don’t care.” 

A lie. It was permanent ink on his body, and he treated the thing like a temple. It was just another aspect of his life that he needed to control. 

“Naked lady it is, then.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” he says, rolling his eyes. So smug.

“How do you know?”

“I know you.” A lump in her throat formed at that. She wasn’t the same young woman he’d swept off her feet. They’d seemed untouchable then. Two souls from two intertwined families, destined to finally unite them. Then it was over.

“You _knew_ me.” 

He raises a brow when she pulls a Sharpie from a pocket on her dress. “I draw it first,” she says, answering his unasked question.

She really was going to draw a wolf, but her dignity doesn’t allow it even as a dig at him. Family sigils had died out a long time ago but both the Stark’s and Targaryen’s still clung to theirs. 

She starts with the head near his inner elbow. Moving down she decides to go cartoonish and draws two ridiculously huge breasts, awaiting his protest. But when she looks up his eyes are shut, his unfairly long black eyelashes resting on his cheeks. 

She hastily moves down the body, the impossibly thin waist and wide hips down to slender legs. It was a comic book artists’ wet dream and defied the limits of the human body. It wasn’t her best work but who cared, she wasn’t going to ink it on him anyway. He would look at the garish art and run screaming. 

She went back in for smaller details. Even if she wasn’t going to tattoo it, a part of her still wanted him to think her art was good.

“Will you tell why you’re really here now?” He asks, still not opening his eyes.

“My mum broke her hip, where else would I be?”

His eyes flash open. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. How is she?”

“She’ll recover, she just needs a little help.” It wasn’t the complete truth. Rhaella lived with her sister-in-law. Daenerys just wanted her mum to need her. Their relationship had suffered in the decade she’d been gone.

Impulsively, she drew two large wings to the back of the curvy woman. And if they looked like dragon wings, then that was purely incidental. 

“Did your brother come back too?” Her hand jerked at the bite in his tone. The first real betrayal of emotion, aside from attraction, since he’d come here. 

She knew Jon probably had many unresolved feelings about the events that brought about their family drama a decade ago but didn’t think Jon hated her or her mother. His feelings towards Rhaegar were most likely contemptuous. It was a mystery how he truly felt about Viserys, but he didn’t seem to hate him, although Viserys certainly hated Jon. They were all likely considered collateral damage in all that happened in the aftermath of the tragedy.

But Grey? The one who’d been arrested for burning down the flagship Stark’s store. He was an easy target for Jon’s anger. 

“No,” she replied shortly. She could try and be polite but wouldn’t listen to him speak disdainfully of her brother. Everyone had always called them the Targaryen twins. Their births were only a month apart, although Grey hadn’t been adopted until they were three. Rhaegar once told her than when their mother had brought him home, she’d tackled him to the ground in a hug, and that was that. Then they were inseparable. 

When they were children, they’d demand to have their birthday party two weeks before Daenerys’ birthday and two weeks after Grey’s. She’d read most twins hate sharing a birthday, but they’d longed to, and would pretend their chosen day was their real birthday. Until they grew up a little and Grey stopped wanting birthday parties, not enjoying the attention. He’d still attend hers though, and she’d always find time to sneak away and share a piece of cake with him.

A beat of silence passes. “I’m glad Rhaella’s okay.”

“Are you?”

“Jesus, of course I am,” he responds indignantly. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Believe me or not. I don’t wish your family ill. I’m not a monster,” he says, sounding exhausted.

“Some in my family would say differently,” she says, capping her Sharpie. 

“What would you say?”

_I’d say I’ve never been able to hate you the way that I want to._

“I don’t know what I’d say.” She goes to wash the ink off her hands at the countertop, turning her back to him. “I have some work to do, you can go.”

The leather chair creaks behind her. “I still have some questions.”

“That’s too bad because I’m done talking to you.” 

“What about my tattoo–”

“I was never going to give you a tattoo! You called my bluff, you win this round okay?” She says, angrily drying her hands. “I shouldn’t be here for more than six weeks, until my mum’s self-sufficient. You don’t need to worry about me causing trouble for you and _daddy_. Go back to your peaceful little life and forget –” She’s cut off as he whirls her to face him, crowding her against the counter, their bodies dangerously close together. 

Their chests brush with each deep breath they exhale, her nipples hardening with each slight touch. 

“You actually think I can have peace knowing you’re so close?” She doesn’t answer him. “Why didn’t you text me this year?”

She didn’t want to be vulnerable but maybe a small dose of the truth would be enough to sate him. “I turned thirty.” She licked her lips and his eyes followed.

“I know how old you are.”

“It would have been ten years.” He’d broken it off two months before her twentieth birthday, mere weeks after both their lives turned upside down. She didn’t think things could get any worse and then he broke her heart. “Ten years should be long enough to get each other out of our systems.”

“And did it? Am I out of your system?”

“Am I out of yours?” she countered, sounding far too breathy. Her only comfort that he sounds the exact same.

Instead of responding he brings their bodies flush together. She can feel him hard against her, his hands now gripping her hips. Without thinking, she moves her legs further apart, her dress pushing up to make room for him. She can’t help but move her hips so the length of him drags over her clit, both of them moaning in tandem. 

_Don’t do this. You know how this ends._

She does know but she’ll take his lust because it’s all she’ll ever have of him. She knows this is headed for disaster but can’t stop herself.

“Ten years and it’s still like this,” Jon mutters, disbelieving. He moves one hand up to just below her breast, his thumb occasionally reaching up to tease her nipple through her dress, while they grind against each other. Their breathing comes faster, and she lifts her head so their lips rub against each other. Not kissing, just touching. She needs more though and reaches up to grab the back of his neck.

As soon as their skin touches, he jumps away, looking frazzled. “No. I can’t. _We_ can’t.”

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment as a chill settles over her body. “I’m not the one who went looking for you,” she says, voice cold.

“I know,” he agitatedly pushes his hair back from his face. “But that isn’t why I came.”

“Whatever,” she says, trying to affect a nonchalant attitude about him crushing her, _again_. “It’s obvious you still want me,” she flashes her eyes to his crotch.

He shakes his head slowly. “I’m seeing someone.”

If she thought she was cold before, that was nothing compared to how she felt now. Three little words to make her want to curl up and disappear. Her mind and body were at war, one trying to simultaneously make sense of and delete the new information it was getting and the other still hungry for his touch.

She knew he wasn’t celibate when they were apart. She wasn’t. She’d had relationships and flings and one-night stands, but none ever crossed over with their annual night together.

She felt nauseous. She was a grown woman sick to her stomach over her ex-boyfriend having a girlfriend. 

She’d decided that she needed to move on but never really thought that meant he’d move on too.

Not to mention that she’d just been shamelessly grinding against another woman’s boyfriend. She didn’t know so shouldn’t blame herself but still, it was a position she never wanted to be in.

What was most shocking was what this meant about Jon. He’d always been unfailingly loyal, it was a blessing and a curse. He’d changed more than she thought capable by going behind this mystery woman’s back to come and see her. 

“Dany–”

“Don’t call me that!” She snapped. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Calling her Daenerys had hurt a little, was so formal. Once he’d started calling her Dany, he’d never stopped but she didn’t want to hear anything resembling affection from him.

He picked up his jacket and tie, moving back toward the curtain. “It’s not serious between us,” he says quietly.

“Fine. Cool.” _Definitely not cool._. “It’s none of my business. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”

She wasn’t anything approaching fine. She was infuriated and devastated but he didn’t get to know that. He didn’t _deserve_ to know that.

Daenerys had gotten so good at pretending to be fine. She’d excelled at it. She’d lost her father a long time ago, to his own narcissism long before he died. She lost her mother to grief, her brothers to hate and then she’d lost Jon. They were meant to be each other’s safe space through the storm. Instead he’d abandoned her in her time of need and smashed her heart to pieces. The one thing she could hold onto was that he never seemed to grasp how badly he’d broken her, how _not_ fine she was. Every year she’d pour all her energy into proving to him how okay she was.

She couldn’t do it much longer. _Get him out_, her brain screamed. “I’m fine. You should go.”

“I don’t–“

“You need to leave.” If her earlier anger didn’t push him away then she needed to appeal to Jon the businessman, whose job it is to care about public appearances for the company and its employees. “The longer you stay, the more likely it is that someone will spot your car. We both know the board won’t like it if you’re spotted with the sister of the man who was responsible for your aunt’s death.”

He has no response to that. He leaves her with a nod and one last, long lingering look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh mystery
> 
> targaryenghafa on twitter.


	3. my heart it breaks every step that i take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its an au so a lot of people are out of character, arya especially so but its by design! she'll feature more later in the story & her growth is part of that.

The girl behind the desk gives Jon a double take as he enters the Starks’ office. Not the good kind of double take either. A ‘wow you look like shit’ double take. He can’t blame her, he’d been up half the night torturing himself again.

_Maybe your fictional girlfriend could help you out with that, arsehole._

Of all the things to say. He couldn’t have just been honest. Oh no, that was too difficult. Instead he made up a girlfriend just to get away from Daenerys.

_Just to get away from how you still feel._

He recalled how her face paled. How it was so obvious his words had affected her. He tried to downplay it immediately, just to make her feel better. It had been so long since he’d seen any true emotion from her.

_How would you feel if she dropped a boyfriend bomb on you?_

He got angry just thinking about it. He was embarrassed by his immature reaction, the kind of thing a teenage boy would lie about just to make a girl jealous.

_You might as well have told her you had a girlfriend in Canada you met at summer camp._

Did he want her jealous? No, because that would mean she was hurting. But he did want to know that she cared like he did, even a little bit.

He took a detour to the men’s room before going to the meeting he was late for. Rolling up his sleeves, Jon splashes water on his face, careful to avoid the drawing on his arm. Too many times over the past two days he’d picked up a washcloth to get rid of her art on his arm, but he could never go through with it. He managed to shower without getting his forearm wet. _Gods_, he sounds insane.

He’s gotten into the bad habit of tracing the drawing’s curves and wings with his forefinger, even woke up this morning to his fingers running over the woman’s wings and down her legs.

_It’s official, I’ve lost my mind. All this just because she drew it._

It wasn’t the drawing that mattered, though it was very well done. It was the intimacy between them. The way she’d spoken to him as she drew on his arm, not soothing words by any means, but the closeness between them while he was sat in that chair was like nothing he’d experienced for a while. He didn’t even know he missed it until he had it again. It’s been a while since he dated seriously, and he didn’t miss it much.

_Maybe it’s not intimacy you miss, maybe it’s intimacy with her._

The first few years into their arrangement it took all his energy not to think about what Daenerys was up to the 364 days they were apart. Eventually though he forced himself to move on. It was hard to find the time with his busy schedule, but he decided to put in the effort. Daenerys was so beautiful after all and was hardly waiting around for him. He’d had a few relationships, even lasted 8 months with someone but was always coincidentally single when that time of year rolled around.

_Yeah. Coincidentally. Sure._

That specific relationship started a few months after their meet-up, was slow-going for a while and just starting to get a little more serious when his anxiety set in. He didn’t know what it was about, just that he had this constant low energy buzz around him, that he couldn’t turn off. Val had accused him of being distant and not invested in their relationship. That should have been the point where he stepped up and proved that he was. Instead he took the opportunity and walked. Literally. He paid the bill at the restaurant they were at for a weekly date night, then bolted home.

He should have felt lonely crawling into bed that night. Val was lovely and intelligent, great to talk to. Instead he felt relieved, like the buzz had just stopped suddenly.

Six weeks later he met up with Daenerys.

There was Ygritte, an ill-advised and very intense 2-month fling. Satin, where Jon had figured out that yes, he definitely liked guys as well. Wynafryd and Alys, though those dalliances died before they really got started.

He felt pathetic that after all these years he still couldn’t stop comparing everyone to Daenerys. He felt even more pathetic that he’d rather not compare anyone to her and just have her. But that wasn’t an option.

After drying off and taking his seat at the meeting, ignoring a pointed glare from his father on the way, Jon fights off the thoughts plaguing him. It’s never been like this.

Sure, after their annual rendezvous Daenerys would occupy his mind for a while, but never this obsessively. It was a constant effort to remain focused on what was being said, and even then his mind slipped.

Arya must have noticed his daydreaming because he felt a sharp kick to his shin under the table.

“Jon?” His father asked brusquely. “Are you with us today?”

“Aye, sorry. What were you saying?”

Brandon Stark had two modes of looking at Jon, disinterest and impatience. It was decidedly the latter at that moment. “That’s not the first time you’ve zoned out.”

“Are you alright?” Arya asked softly.

He glanced across the table to his baby sister, cousin really but all having been raised in the same household they viewed each other as siblings. She was looking at him with her big grey eyes, so like their Aunt Lyanna’s. But her voice was weak and subdued. It always was around his father. He had a way of grinding people down. The Arya he knew was wild and boisterous and opinionated, not meek or reticent. The Brandon Stark effect, he thought bitterly. Maybe if Catelyn had stood up for her once in a while, instead of doubling down on Brandon’s efforts to make a proper young woman out of her.

Taking a deep breath, he exhales his anger with it. Now was not the time to dredge up his familial resentment. “I’m fine, darling. Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

She nodded and went back to pushing her food around her plate. Jon hadn’t even touched his food. These weekly meetings had replaced family lunch after Benjen, Robb and Sansa moved away.

He remembered the old family lunches. When he was much younger and Ned was still alive, more a father to him than his own. The way all the kids would cram around the table and if his dad was in town sometimes he’d sit beside Jon and ask him how school was going, if he was still on the football team. Lyanna would throw scraps of food at the kids and pretend it wasn’t her until Rickard would gently scold her.

And then there was after Ned. Catelyn would be somewhere reprimanding one of the kids, questioning their life choices as if everything was life and death and they weren’t still teenagers, most of them. Lyanna would potter around if she wasn’t with Robert, who she never brought along with her. If Jon had brought Dany, she’d tease him about her and take Arya, Bran and Rickon outside to play tag or rugby, coming back inside covered in mud. Catelyn would scold her, not so gently, but Lyanna would ignore her. Jon often thought of her as close to a mother figure as he had. His own had committed suicide not long after his birth, and Catelyn certainly wasn’t motherly towards him. Lyanna filled that gap for him. She was wild but dependable. Brandon was always away on business; Ned had succumbed to a sudden heart attack but the idea of her ever being gone never even occurred to him. Until it did.

Benjen had moved first, with little explanation as to why, to the Scottish Highlands. He didn’t visit much. Robb went next, to work in the London offices. He ended up meeting a former model, Margaery Tyrell. After marrying he stepped down from the position, surprising as he’d always seemed ambitious. They moved to the Lake District where he ran a small branch, overseeing both the business and agricultural side. Growing the goods and selling them.

Sansa had fled to London, not long after, seeking acceptance she wouldn’t find under her mother’s glare. Her specific reasons unknown to him. She seemed happier there though, much healthier mentally. Staying in Westeros was turning her into the worst version of herself.

Now family lunches were this, himself, Arya and Brandon with Rickard skyping in from home. Limp salad and flavourless chicken while they talked business. Considering they ran a grocery chain whose business model was built around fresh farm grown food, their meals were awful.

“Again, really? What’s up with you?” His father’s voice jolts him back to the present.

“I’m a little stressed is all. I’ll be fine.”

“Stress is a silent killer. You need to relax once in a while,” Grandpa Rickard said, voice slightly muted through the speakers.

Brandon sighed as if taking a moment off was foreign to him. As if Jon was so naïve to believe that Brandon’s frequent trips to Las Vegas, Macau and Monaco were all work and no play. As a child Jon had believed that the only reason his father wouldn’t be with him was because he had to work to keep the business steady. He believed it purely because his father had always said, “If I could be there I would, believe me.” It was that simple. But it didn’t take long into his teen years to realise it was an empty statement.

Rickard looked worn on the video chat. This was the third time in a month he’d called in instead of coming to the office. Jon always thought his grandfather would have been happy to step down from the board if it weren’t for his barely disguised mistrust of his son. He’d heard stories of his grandfather as a younger man and a soft touch he was not, but having lost two of his children and not being in touch with the other it makes sense that he would keep his son around.

“Now we’ve established you need to get better at taking care of yourself,” Brandon started. “Can you answer my question?”

He barely restrained his eyeroll but plastered on a pleasant smile. “I’ll have to think about it and get back to you.”

“You’ll have to get back to me about the protests?” Brandon asks dryly.

Fuck. The protests.

“We’re being protested?” Arya asks.

“How have you missed it? It’s all over the fucking news.”

“No, it’s not all over the fucking news. It’s been picked up by a regional newscaster in Derbyshire due to the few dozen protestors, nothing huge.”

“What are they protesting?”

“Accusations of the company taking advantage of a prison work programme. That on top of people thinking we’ve stopped procuring our products organically. To answer your question, Dad, I’m still waiting on a status update. I’ve got people checking the sources of both the rumours and the product suppliers. It shouldn’t take too long; we’ve always used the same few farms from Derby to stock the shop.”

“It needs to hurry,” his father’s impatience shines through his gritted teeth.

“Everyone’s working as fast as they can. And we don’t have anything to worry about because it isn’t true.” Brandon glanced away. “Right?”

“Right,” he sighed.

“I say we cull the products immediately, never mind waiting for the reports” Rickard chimed in. “People need to be paid a fair wage for working for us, so if there’s even a little suspicion that we’ve stopped using local farmers, the bedrock of our company, in favour of prison labour then we ought to put an end to it before it gets out of hand. Disregard all the product and pay our usual suppliers twice as much for the inconvenience. We’ll take a hit, but we’ll survive. What do we say in this company?”

“Family. Honour. Fairness.” Jon, Brandon and Arya droned in unison. Words drummed into all of them since they were small children.

“You said there were more protests?”

“Aye, just some bullshit rumours down in Brighton about our farms force feeding animals. Completely baseless,” Jon replied.

“We all know the family words father,” Brandon cuts in as if Jon and Arya weren’t talking. “But we’ve got nearly 200 stores now, not the 20 you were used to back in your day. We can’t personally follow up on every product we sell.”

Brandon was reminding them not just of the company’s growth but the part he played in it. If Jon really wanted to stir up trouble, he’d bring up the fact that since he himself was promoted the company had an even greater growth. But he’s tired and wants to get out of here so he can obsess over Daenerys in private.

Mostly, he wants to scream that this is the kind of minor issue he deals with all the time, could fix in his sleep.

Jon knew his real position though was to work to end these fights between his father and grandfather, to settle the deadlocks between them. It wasn’t just for himself that he did this, but for the thousands of people employed by _Stark’s_. Too often he just wanted to take a day to lie in bed, but he can’t because the decisions made that day affect far more people than him. He’ll take the hits, so the company doesn’t have to.

Ned used to have a pile of paper always sat to the left of his desk, it was a constant presence but seemed to have no use, just taking up room. When he and Robb went to work with him one day, Ned explained that it was the name of every single person who worked for the company and he never wanted to forget the responsibility that weighed on his shoulders.

Jon had followed suit. His was a digital file as he didn’t like his desk all cluttered, but every morning, without fail, he scrolls through the endless amounts of names. If he didn’t do his job well, he’d be letting all these people down. So, he did his job extremely well.

“I know how many stores we have,” his grandfather snaps at his dad. “Aegon and I built this company, I do understand how it’s run.”

“We’ve released a statement,” Jon cuts in. “That we believe in our rigorous and unprecedented standards for food quality but will be investigating the accusations to clear up any confusion. If we don’t like the results, we get back then we can argue about how we proceed.”

“We shouldn’t imply there’s even the possibility of wrongdoing-”

“For Christ’s sake, Brandon! We can afford to cut a few suppliers if-”

“Enough!” Jon raises his voice, wanting to cut this argument short. “I can handle this.”

Shortly after, Rickard signs off, clearly tired of this sham of a family lunch/meeting.

They’re wrapping things up when Arya clears her throat. “Before we go, I have some news. I overheard something that I think you’ll want to know.”

This surprises him, Arya usually kept to herself at these meetings, only chiming in when absolutely necessary. She worked for the Lyanna Stark Foundation, a non-profit she was working on at the time of her death. It had changed over the years, and while still meeting its charitable goals, had lost the life and vivacity Lyanna had brought to it, by no fault of Arya and her colleagues. The foundation had just become a cast off for the Stark’s corporation. A symbol of how giving and unlike other corporations they were, when ultimately Brandon, no matter his love for Lyanna, saw it as a chore.

He looked to her, encouraging, hoping to see the side of his sister he knew his father had snuffed out.

“I don’t need to know what you and that baker boy gossip about,” Brandon said dismissively.

Before Jon can snap at his father, Arya spills out the words he was really hoping not to hear in a family meeting. “Daenerys Targaryen is back.”

The air is sucked out of the room as Brandon says very slowly, “What did you just say?”

“Dany is back.” Arya meets his eyes and a hint of the steeliness he’s familiar with outside of work settles in her voice. Later on when his heart rate returns to normal he’ll be proud of her. “I heard she was settling in, even has a job at Gendry’s. I thought it better you find out from me,” her gaze slides to Jon, “Instead of hearing people gossiping about it.”

“People are gossiping about it?” Brandon asked icily. His reaction to the Targaryen’s was so predictable. It’s as if he thought he could actually erase memories of them from the Westeros consciousness.

“People are always gossiping about us,” Jon replied mildly, doing his best to reveal nothing. “This is no different from the rest of the time.”

“Sorry I just blurted it out,” Arya’s eyebrows furrow, worry evident from her posture. If they were away from Brandon, there’s no way she would be apologizing to him for something so innocuous. “I know you were…close, I just-”

“Don’t worry about it. That was a long time ago.”

“I–”

“This is none of your business, Arya!” Brandon yelled at her. Jon witnessed the moment she jumped in her skin and the moment right after where she withdrew all emotion. His sister, the little wild wolf of the family, becoming placid and unmoved. He knew that look, had recognized it on his own face in the mirror enough times.

“Do. Not. Speak to her. That way.” Jon enunciated slowly and made sure his own barely restrained anger carried was obvious, a not so subtle threat within.

There was always the unspoken threat between them, the uneasy balance they existed within. Brandon _needed_ him. He’d helped grow and revitalize this company. His reputation was fair but could be ruthless if people tried to take advantage. He was known for being intelligent and forward-thinking, for being able to get along with people Brandon couldn’t, for his ability to manipulate others in situations where his dad would just lose his temper and a good deal alongside it.

There was only so far Jon could push Brandon, but he’d push to that point when he needed.

“Leave us. I need to speak to your brother.”

_Hmm._ Even Brandon thinks of them as siblings, and it’s definitely not because he sees Arya as a daughter.

Despite the way Brandon constantly belittles her, Arya waits for Jon to give a nod before she grabs her things and leaves.

Brandon takes a deep breath, and for a moment Jon thinks they’re about to having a mature conversation. Until Brandon takes his glass and throws it against a wall.

_Drama queen._

His father paces the room, shoulders heaving. “One member of that family leaves and another comes fucking back.”

“Viserys didn’t leave, he died,” Jon states the obvious.

Brandon shrugged. He had the audacity to shrug at mention of Jon’s former best friend, the boy who spent half their childhoods at the Stark family estate.

Jon bit his tongue. For a long time he’d ignored the good parts of his and Viserys’ relationship as Viserys had showed himself capable of being spiteful and malicious after their friendship ended. But after his death Jon refused to push his memories away. They couldn’t have been more different but for so many years they were each the best friends they’d ever had.

“Did you know?” His father’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“I’m a little busy working my arse off to ask around for gossip.” Jon wanted to ask his dad if he knew Rhaella had broken her hip. They’d been friendly once upon a time, living on family estates side-by-side for so long.

Until Brandon decided to have a conversation with Rhaella. No one knows what was said aside from the two of them. All they know is a grief-stricken Rhaella entered there owning half the company and left without it. She was compensated for it, but no one would say the deal was fair. It didn’t just affect the business dealings, not long after Rhaella moved from the largest compound on the island to a small house on a street he can’t bear to drive down, the Targaryen estate of Dragonstone now belonging to the reclusive Stannis Baratheon.

Whether her share of _S&T's_ was bought or stolen he couldn’t spend too much time thinking about, fearing the bad taste would never leave his mouth. Coward, popped up in head.

“Is she staying?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Like I said, I didn’t know she was back.”

“She needs to leave.”

“Well, that’s not really up to us.”

“How hard would it be to get her fired?”

He huffed a laugh, “What?”

“She works for Gendry, what price do you think would make him let her go?”

“They’re family, Gendry’s fairly neutral but he was always closer to them. He’s not going to let her go. This isn’t Eastenders. Contrary to your beliefs we can’t run whoever we want out of town. She has every right to be here. If we interfere it will only make it worse, only cause more people to talk.”

Brandon sighed in defeat. Bringing up the company reputation is always a sure-fire way to get his dad thinking sensibly.

“I don’t want any more drama to fall upon us.”

“I know.”

“You’re not to contact her.”

His jaw clenched painfully. “I wasn’t planning on seeing her,” he lied. “But I’m not some foolish teenager anymore, I’ll make my own decisions.”

“Your decisions reflect on this company, if it affects us poorly, then _no_ you won’t.”

Did his dad really care about him spending time with Daenerys? Maybe a little, anyone or anything he couldn’t control was sure to bother him, but it wasn’t the crux of the issue. The real problem was that it would dredge up history that Brandon had tried so hard to make the people of Westeros forget.

They never would, of course, the gossip and scandal too juicy to ever be permanently silenced but it wasn’t on the tips of everyone’s tongues anymore. But if Jon and Daenerys were seen together in public, or even worse caught in private as if their relationship was salacious, then conversation would easily turn to the corporate takeover that tore the families apart.

It wouldn’t be long before even more painful topics were rehashed to death; the fire that Grey had been accused of starting at the flagship store and how Rhaegar and Lyanna died in a car crash on the road to the Targaryen’s holiday home Summerhall, when he was supposed to be out of town on business. How Elia Martell, his wife, fled Westeros back to her own homeland, taking their young children. They’d talk about how when they were teenagers, everyone thought Lyanna and Rhaegar should date but they never did.

Publicly people would berate Rhaegar more than his aunt, how he took advantage of his friends’ sister, never mind that he and Brandon were never friends, what a monster he was behind his amiable grin. _There was a reason he could be so solitary_, they’d tipsily claim at the pub, _if you were around him too long you’d begin to see the darkness beneath his façade._

Lyanna was always the victim, never an active participant, a young woman caught up in everything. In private though, she was as condemned as he. A homewrecker, selfish and loose, so disloyal to Robert who was nothing but good to her. Robert was always a poor soul, betrayed by the woman he loved. They rarely extended the same thought or ‘compassion’ to Elia, except when they wanted to insult Lyanna or Rhaegar.

Jon didn’t know the whole truth of what happened, but he knew that it wasn’t as simple as it seemed and it hurt to know people spoke poorly of his aunt Lyanna. It even hurt to think of Dany’s brother being badmouthed. Did he really want everything to be out in the open again, fair game to talk about as if the incident hadn’t ruined his life?

He felt 20 years old again. Grief-stricken and unsure, standing in front of his father. _We have to be realistic, son. Things will never be the same again. If you can’t do this for Lyanna’s memory, then do it for the rest of us. Family first._

“Think of all the pointless melodrama. Think of the family,” Brandon said to him in the present, using as kind a tone as he was capable of. But Jon saw through it. He was so much less soft now than he once was, a man grown. Still, his father was vindictive and while not skilled at quiet manipulations, didn’t meant he couldn’t manipulate at all.

_Be a realist, Jon. You knew how this would go._

“I always think of the family.”

Brandon released a deep sigh. “Good. Now, call up on the supplier investigations. I want this over with.”

He sat in silence for a moment, listening to Brandon’s footsteps echo in the hallways. He used to be better at letting go of emotions that were inconvenient to him. As a teenager he was always brimming with feeling even if it wasn’t always obvious to those around him. As he grew up, he learned to compartmentalise his emotions, but it wasn’t working today. Every inch of cold resentment he felt towards his father was coursing through him.

At least it’s replaced the fire in his veins that his meeting with Daenerys brought.

He needs to get out of this sterile office. There’s dozens of people waiting on him to make a thousand decisions that effect countless people. He’d do what he does best, busy himself and work, plan, strategize. Not think about all he can’t change.

After binning all the broken glass he can see, he brings up the messages on his phone, reading the two from Daenerys.

** _Quit being a stalker  
If you want a tattoo you have to come inside_ **

He thought about texting her and warning her about Brandon, about how people would talk about her return, but she wasn’t stupid and knows there’ll be consequences for another Targaryen returning home. He’d heard his father rail on about the audacity of Rhaella and Viserys staying on his island as if he had ownership of the whole place, but he didn’t actually have the power to run her out of town.

Deciding to bite the bullet he deletes the texts and then the number. It’ll be backed up on the cloud somewhere, he knows, and the thought gives him a little relief, but he doesn’t dwell on it for long.

Maybe if he accomplishes a lot today, he’ll skip the gym and go to the bakery instead and indulge his sweet tooth that he’s constantly denying.

He’s barely finished processing the thought before he changes his mind. Giving in to his temptations, any of them, is dangerous road that he can’t afford to travel down. It’s the healthier choice for him. And for Daenerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a minute but life stuff & then writers block got in the way. 
> 
> next chapter we're back to daenerys & a little missandei pov as well.
> 
> targaryenghafa on twitter

**Author's Note:**

> so i started a new multi-chapter fic even though i'm not done with too tempting not to touch. that one is my priority for now but i've had this written for a while & thought i might as well post it.
> 
> targaryenghafa on twitter.


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